


Ali Dinner

by fromunderthegaytree



Category: My Beautiful Laundrette (1985)
Genre: Arguing, Distrust, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthegaytree/pseuds/fromunderthegaytree
Summary: Omar invites Johnny to eat dinner with him and his father. Johnny doesn't think it's a good idea.





	Ali Dinner

He looked at the scars. The scars healed but the week didn't. It was a week since it happened. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, his features darkened by the dimly lit bathroom light. The bruise on his broken nose started to heal, it's original purple colour yellowed. 

He had a black eye, which was green and yellow. Ganghis had cut his right cheekbone, one underneath his busted lip and one near his nostril; with his rings. They were shallow, scabs. 

He pushed up his grey sweatshirt's right sleeve to look at the deepest cut. It didn't need stitches but the cut turned out to be deep. It healed but it was shiny, telling him that it would be a scar. 

He heard the door knock. Three small raps then: "Are you ready?" Omar asked carefully, his voice muffled by the door. Johnny turned away from the mirror for a second. 

"Gimme a minute! I'll be out!" He replied before turning back to the mirror. He reached out, with both hands, he turned on the water.  
He cupped his hands--calloused and splintered--before collecting water. 

He craned his neck over the sink and pushed his cupped hands to his face. His eyes blinked quickly at the cool water striking his face.  
He grabbed a towel and dabbed the water away. 

He unlocked the door before stepping out into the Laundrette's back room. Omar was sitting in the old chair, focused on a magazine.  
He looked up, concentration breaking. "Oh, ready to go?"

Johnny couldn't force himself to smile. He could've but he couldn't, he never wanted to lie to Omar.  
Omar noticed his lack of expression and reached out. His warm hand gripping his shoulder and squeezing it. 

The gesture didn't help Johnny. He stared out the one way mirror, into the laundrette. It was closed but wouldn't the broken glass be obvious? 

"Cheer up, Johnny." Omar encouraged, his tone missing enthusiasm.   
"I'm tryin'." Johnny shot a glare at him and Omar shrunk back slightly. He didn't add anything, he turned and grabbed his coat. 

The long trench coat that Johnny hated. It reminded him too much of Salim. He felt bitterness but shook it off. Omar ignored Johnny's grumpiness and reached out again, running a hand through his thick hair.

Johnny wouldn't admit it but he loved how fearless Omar was. He loved that Omar was ready to love him despite the circumstances. 

He turned away and turned off the light before walking through the laundrette. "Omo.." Johnny broke the silence when they stepped outside. Omar unlocked the car doors and started the car. 

Omar suddenly seemed eager to speak with him. "Yeah?"  
Johnny sat down in the passenger seat. He glanced at him. "I don't think we should do this." He practically whispered. 

Omar's smile faltered to a frown. "Huh? Papa's gonna like you." He reassured, forcing a smile but it seemed overly fake.  
"No, what about all them things I did to you?" He asked, guilt boiling in his stomach.

Omar laughed softly but thought about all their fallouts during grade school and how he saw Johnny at the Lewisham march. He frowned, sighing softly.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator and the car urged on. The wind crawled across their skin. Johnny broke out into goosebumps. 

"You didn't answer me." He reminded. Omar shook his head, lips shivering in a mouthless 'christ'.  
"Johnny.. I.. I don't know.." He whispered, his warm brown eyes almost seemed to turn dark. 

Johnny sighed and dropped his head in his hands. The wind pushed through his thick hair.  
"Let's talk about something else." Omar right hand reached past the gear shift and stroked his hair.  
Johnny broke into a weak smile, unable to hate Omar when he held him. 

"Uh... How's Salim?" He asked, a hint of heavy sarcasm in his tone. He didn't care about Salim, or any of Omo's corrupt relatives. He knew Omar sensed the sarcasm because he sighed loudly. 

There wasn't anything louder than when Omar sighed. "He's fine, he hates your kind but I feel like.." He looked at Johnny who completed his sentence.  
"He never should've ran him over.." Omar mumbled quietly.

Johnny didn't interrupt, he listened to Omar.  
"You can't fight fire with fire.. I wish it all didn't have to be like this." His eyes seemed to water but he blinked them.  
If Johnny accused him of crying he would've blamed it on lack of sleep.

"I agree. At least we have each other." He comforted, holding Omar's hand. Omar wanted to ask 'what if each other isn't enough?'. But he only stared back at the road.

Johnny pulled his hand away gingerly and closed his eyes. The rest of the car drive was silent. He could hear the traffic but he couldn't hear Omar sighing.

Then the car stopped and he opened his eyes. He turned his head and his eyes softened. He stared at the building that occupied his childhood thoughts. A pang of nostalgia struck him. 

The same grey bricks, the same red door. Maybe it was a trick of the eye but it all seemed more faded. He remembered when they played near the street. Usually kicking a football around before an officer or adult yelled at them.

He got up, stepping out the car. His legs felt like lead as he could only stare. Omar got up and rested his chin on his broad shoulder.  
"Go on.." He urged. The same familiar sound of running trains greeted Omar like a family dog would. 

Omar let his hand glide down his arm before holding his hand. He pulled himself inside and the musty smell saddened Johnny. Years of neglect..  
He led him upstairs, Hussein was reading the newspaper. 

He looked up, blinking in shock. Next to his son.. Was the punk.  
He would've immediately kicked him out but he remembered how Johnny promised to help encourage his son to go to college. 

Johnny scratched his neck, staring at the picture frame across the small room. It was a photo of Omar's mother. She was kind and almost a second mother.

He quickly forced his line of sight to Johnny's father.  
"Omar.." He began before the young man explained.  
"Papa, I want Johnny to eat dinner with us." 

Years of alcoholism showed on his face. Bags of lack of sleep dropped beneath his eyelids.  
He looked at Johnny. He felt bitter hate when he thought about the time he saw Johnny hanging with the group of punks.

Did the speeches in class not get to him? He remembered that Johnny took social studies. He always gave speeches to the class, meaning to inspire. Johnny always told him that his advice helped him.

Now, he was a fascist with skunk like hair. Then he saw the same boy who stuck with Omar through the ugly in high school. He also saw the same man working with Omar, being his only friend.

He looked at Omar who gave wide eyes, pleading. He nodded before looking down.  
Johnny sighed of relief.  
"I'm going to start dinner." Omar moved away from the room.

"What're we having?" He asked his lover who turned. Johnny expected him to make his favourite dish when he ate at his house. His mother would always cook more for him: naresh kebab and naan bread. 

"Uh, I didn't have time to buy groceries." He began, absentmindedly kicking the carpet. "I'm cooking chicken, peas and potatoes." 

He took off his trench coat and tossed it to the chair. It didn't make it. Johnny picked it up and set it down.  
"So.. How are you?" He asked Hussein who poured Smirnoff vodka into a glass.

He looked up. "The world is falling about." He replied, before downing the drink. He winced slightly.  
"Sorry to hear so." Johnny sat on the edge of Hussein's bed. 

"How are you?" He asked Johnny. He simply shrugged, he felt bad. His friends turned on him, Salim hated him for the friends he no longer had. The only person who didn't turn on him was Omar.

He could hear the clinking sound of cutlery in the kitchen and could hear Omar humming. He focused on it and figured that he was humming 'London Calling' by The Clash.  
He felt Hussein look at him from the corner of his eyes. 

"I'm okay.." He replied finally. He nodded and poured another glass.  
"So.. Last week, Salim took quite a beating.." He began slowly. Johnny wanted to argue that he was the one who took it.

"Then you protected him and let all those fascists beat you." His tone was unreadable. Johnny couldn't tell if he was trying to mock him or not.

"You could've just let them kill Salim, even after all that fuck did." It seemed heartbreaking to hear his old professor who would shout in class with enthusiasm be void of emotion.

"Omar wouldn't have liked me to just watch Salim get hurt." He watched Hussein wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.  
"You really care about Omar."  
The way he said it. It wasn't a question, it was statement.

He nodded carefully. "He's been my best since we were five."  
That struck Hussein slightly. He remembered how Johnny was a second child to them.  
His eyes turned glassy. He nodded.

Omar cleared his throat from the kitchen. "Uh, it's ready."  
Johnny got up before holding out a hand to Hussein.  
He looked up and took it before getting up weakly.

Johnny walked into the small kitchen and stared at the table.  
"Didn't take you long." He commented.  
Omar nodded, sighing in content.  
"Yeah, I guess that's because the chicken was store bought."

Johnny sat down in the barely holding together chair. Hussein made a noise of exertion before Omar rushed to help his father sit.  
"Papa, do you want something to drink?" He asked, trying to encourage his father to drink something other than booze.

Johnny realized that Omar practically took care of his father for everything. It was a wonder that he could juggle the laundrette and taking care of him. He wondered: how could Omo go to college?

"No, no, I have my drink.." He shook his head, tearing his head away. Omar put his hands on the counter.  
"Please.." He pleaded, concerned for his health. 

"Quit it." He retorted his final answer. He glared at Omar before looking away. Omar's expression darkened like the sky when the storm rolled in.  
Johnny looked at him, offering a small smile.

"What about you? Beer? Water?" He asked. Johnny opened his mouth and nervous chuckle let out.  
The environment seemed tense.  
"I'll have whatever you're havin' Omo." 

He swore that Omar looked at him for a long time. He pulled two bottles of beer from the fridge. He set down the plates on the table before he went to open the bottles.

"Thank you." Johnny said politely. Like he always had. When they were kids, he was always the politest at their flat.  
Hussein eagerly stacked his plate with potatoes and chicken.

"Fancier than whatever shit you buy at the store." Hussein smiled and looked at his son. Johnny half expected to see Omar roll his eyes but he smiled.  
"I only buy it to bother you." He joked and the father-son duo laughed. 

Dinner went quickly. Hussein was quiet, way too quiet. 'He used to chew everyone's ears off.' Johnny thought, puzzled.  
Omar spoke, about the laundrette. Of course, what else would he speak about?

"Papa, the windows are going to be replaced soon and then.. I might take over Zaki's laundrette." He chattered, shovelling a forkful of chicken into his mouth.  
"I thought it was two." Johnny mumbled, taking a swig of beer.

"A lot happened, I don't want to have too much on my plate." He replied, eyes bright with enthusiasm.  
"What does Salim think?" Johnny asked, sarcastically as he returned to eating.

He either ignored or didn't pick up on his sarcasm.  
"Oh, he doesn't like that idea but I don't know.."  
Hussein looked up from his meal. Johnny took a glance and realized that he only ate quarter of his meal.

"What college course do you hope to take?" He asked.  
Omar looked in shock, the question quieted him.  
Johnny was curious. 

He took a second or two, staring at his finished plate. He looked up at his father. He shrugged. Hussein sighed loudly.  
"I remember when you wanted to become a high school teacher just like your papa."  
"But that doesn't really pay well.."

Johnny cringed at Omar's words. Of course, he would say that.  
The rest of dinner was small talk. When Hussein finished eating, Omar offered dessert.  
"I bought brownies from the store, do you want some?" He asked his dad.

He shook his head. "I'm tired, I'm going to bed."  
He got up and walked out the kitchen.  
"Goodbye Johnny." He said without a trace of hostility in his tone.

Johnny nodded, "'night, Mr. Ali." Omar helped his father get in bed. Johnny leaned against the doorway and watched.  
He pulled down the covers and Hussein crawled in.  
"Goodnight papa." He kissed his forehead and turned away.

Johnny watched, it warmed his heart to watch his boyfriend take care of his father. It was truly heartbreaking when he realized that Omar's dad couldn't take of himself.  
But even when Omar was a jerk, he knew he cared about his dad. He did everything for him.

He felt jealous, remembering his poor relationship with his parents.  
Omar passed him and started to make tea.  
"Omo, what your dad said.." He followed him.

Omar reached into brown paper bag and tossed the package of brownies onto the table.  
"'Bout what?" He sighed. He began looking in the cupboard. 

"What kind of tea do you want?" He asked Johnny.  
"Uh- Earl Grey.. You know, what your dad said about you being a teacher 'n all.."  
He played, bored, with the tablecloth. 

Omar went to sit at the table. He opened the package and bit into one. "I do but it doesn't make you know.." He began before Johnny finished.  
"A lot of money.."  
He nodded, sighing.

"I was thinking, when you come back from college, I could work at the laundrette and we could buy a house together." He chattered before Omar scoffed.  
"Yeah, nobody's going to question two men living together?" 

Johnny sighed, bothered.  
"It's our laundrette, why can't it be our flat?" He questioned which Omar looked down.  
"There is a flat for rent near the laundrette which we could use as an excuse.." He began.

Omar looked over his shoulder, peering into the dark room. He looked at his father and sighed.  
"I can't leave him, Johnny." He spoke firmly. Johnny nodded, understanding.  
"I know, I'll wait for you though."  
"I know you will." Omar smiled.

After they drank tea and ate processed sugar, they left the flat. The night was pale, almost dusk.  
"Guess its your shift now." Johnny commented as he got in the car.  
Omar gave an empty laugh.

"I'll drop you off at your place." He offered and drove.  
The drive was mostly silent until Johnny broke the silence.  
"You really care about your father."  
Omar sighed quietly.

"I wish there was more I could do." He glanced at Johnny.  
"About your father?" He asked, watching his boyfriend turn a left.  
"No, about you and Salim, I hate the fighting but I can't do anything about it." 

Johnny sighed and held his hand.  
"You have a lot on your shoulders, taking care of your dad, going to college, the laundrette, your family and hiding about us."  
Omar nodded, frustrated.

He finally pulled up next to Johnny's place. Johnny went to step out but stopped. He turned and leaned in, kissing Omar.  
"Johnny.. Even if Salim hates you. If my papa doesn't like you, I love you." 

Johnny smiled, nodding.  
"See you tomorrow, Omo." Then the car drove away.  
He went to bed like he usually did but felt too much on his mind. 

How would he help him get to college? He always wanted to live together, he'd be a teacher and he'd work at the laundrette. No, they were both doomed from the start instead.


End file.
